SHEEP MAY SAFELY GRAZE

SHEEP MAY SAFELY GRAZE

Now as the hours of the golden day come wandering in,

And the sound of the running stream flows gently through the plain,

                                   The morning light whispering, hazy,

                                               Darting through the window-pane,

                                   Awakes me to the fragrance of the day,

The morning fresh of sea air, blue and yellow, sky and sun,

And I on wings of dawn, young and carefree as a bird,

                                   Wandering through the fields,

                                               Easy and happy as the wind.

Tranquil, adventurous, sunny days among the olive trees,

Where cheerful birds are chirping merrily upon the bough

           The sensual music of endless days,

                       Brooding of stillness.

           It is lovely, the shimmering trees,

The leaves by myriads murmuring their mesmerizing song,

Quivering with passion, the dew on the meadow flowers,

                       And the sleeves of heaven

           Embracing me warmly in their arms.

And my heart so high it is wrapped all over the heavens,

The friendly sky weaving its silken web upon my cheek,

           As I sing of summer in the sun,         

                       And of the fruitful grape

           Whose vine her ancient ruby gave.

And I ride the winding paths running along enchanted banks,

And bordered meadows where sheep may safely graze in pasturelands.

                       Where under feathered clouds

           A thousand blossoms with the day awake.

Now on evening at the close when I passion into sleep,

Softly round my dreaming head the moon rises once again.

           The glowworms wavering pale under the stars

                       As light candles in the dark,

           And the midnight moon that always comes

Heading away the sleepless hours, time made captive in its arms,

Spins through my endless days to enwrap within its gaze

           The sheep-tinkling peace of pastureland,

                       The long, slow, and languid sun.

Soon comes again the dew, the shining day that follows me

As I awake to the white-washed coolness of the stone-shaped house,

           To the goats out by the mountain grass,

                       To the cock crew morning call,

           And the chickens cackling in the yard.

The taste sweets of orange groves still follow me, the thoughtless,

And unchallenged days, high spirited and gay, the laughter,

                       The elusive, easy wind,

           The scent of basil drifting in the fields.

But here now, in the virgin white days, oblivion hovers

Impatient as the curtains of time glide steadfast down the years,

           And the overhanging night on-coming

                       Sheds before and after

           The innocence forever fled.

Still, somewhere in streams, on sun-warm mountain pasturage,

I seek the strength, the vividness of those radiant days,

                       And with azure fill my heart,

           And sing the true-blue dream of sky.

                By Angélique Codina                                                                                                  ?Angélique Codina